


30 Days in the life of Space Husbands

by AlexKingOfTheDamned



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Angst, Basically a lot of stuff, Bodyswap, Crossdressing Kink, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Forced Crossdressing, Genderswap, High School AU, Humor, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Marriage, More angst, Near-death Experiences, Rape Aftermath, Roofies, Tribbles (Star Trek), Videogaming, city on the edge of forever, just read it, the naked time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30-Day OTP challenge. Chapters will be posted upon completion! There's a little bit of everything in this one. <br/>A couple of the chapters were combined, which is why there's only going to be 28 instead of 30.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. "In Disguise"

**Author's Note:**

> Spirk is the main pairing in this story. Throughought the entire thing, Jim and Spock are Vulcan-married, so keep that in mind as you go, and enjoy!

Tribbles. 

 

Jim sort of hates them.  The planet that the Enterprise is currently orbiting, Gliese 667b according to the Federation, has a reported infestation and at least one village is apparently wondering why their food stores are being replaced by furballs.  It's easy, at least. No one is in critical danger as of yet, no overly hostile aliens. 

 

According to the visiting scientist who'd reported tribble sightings, the planet and its people are peaceful, intelligent, and hospitable.  The sort of planet that might attract Federation travellers if not for its nearly primeval culture.  The inhabitants of the planet have not named it themselves though they refer to themselves as the Glieseans which leads Starfleet Officials to believe that this trouble with tribbles isn't the first violation of the Prime Directive that's taken place here.

 

"We'll get it taken care of.  Kirk out," Jim says and the Commander onscreen nods and ends the communication.  "Ugh, tribbles," he adds once he's offscreen  turning in his chair to give Uhura a rather pointed look.  "We know all about tribbles, don't we," but all he gets in answer is a rather superior look and the flick of her ponytail as she turns and actively ignores him. 

 

Jim laughs, turning his chair back and watching the revolution of the planet as he comms Scotty.  They'll need to set up a receiving area in some darkened corner of engineering, somewhere that they won't have to worry about the little shits, something closed off so that no misguided crewman lulled by their incessant purring decides to take one of the things as a pet.

 

Because that didn’t go over so well last time.

 

They’re in travel for three days before they finally close in on the planet. Standard orbit in place, Spock already off at the transporter room, Jim is all ready to beam down when Chekov stops him on his way to the door.

 

“You vill not be able to beam down, sir,” he says, swiveling in his chair to face the retreating captain. “Prime Directive. You vill need to fly a shuttle down vere nobody can see you.”

 

Not as easy as beaming, but if that’s the worst of their troubles it’s going to be an easy mission. Jim thinks nothing more can go wrong as he heads to engineering, but he’s completely wrong. He’s never been more wrong in all his life.

 

Spock is wearing some black-and-green velvet ensemble with poofy booty shorts and a tunic of some kind, a cape thrown over his shoulder, green tights on his legs and curly-toed shoes on his feet. He’s got a velvet cap over his head to hide his ears, and he’s holding some kind of tiny obese guitar.

 

He doesn’t even have time to laugh at Spock’s ridiculous getup before he’s shoving clothes at Jim. “Please put this on.”

 

Jim is ready to laugh too, right up until the point that he realizes he's expected to dress similarly, and he takes the bundle of clothing with his eyebrows raised, looking from the pile of velvet he's been given to the pile of velvet that is Spock.  "I thought we were going to Gliese 667b, not Sherwood Forest.  What is that?"  He indicates the musical instrument Spock's holding.  The longer he looks the more his amusement manages to fight through the idea that he's going to have to wear leggings and he finds himself grinning just a bit. 

 

“It’s a lute. I am masquerading as a bard for a nobleman – that’s you. And the good doctor will be here any moment as your personal guard,” he walks forward and sets the lute on a crate so he can lift the golden cap from the pile in Jim’s arms and settles it on his head so that the overblown white feather sits just right. He offers a smile with his eyes, the only kind he gives the captain when there are other people around. “The planet is in its renaissance right now, and we have to blend in.”

 

Well.  Jim's worn sillier, he figures, and, 'I didn't want to wear bloomers,' doesn't even sound like a valid excuse for not adhering to the Prime Directive.  He shrugs and offers Spock a resigned little smile, then heads for the shuttle to change.   

 

"You know, this isn't all that bad," he says, a moment later, holding up a richly embroidered blue velvet doublet.  There's a fur trimmed gold jacket to go on top with wide droopy sleeves, the same style of puffy shorts that Spock is wearing, and a pair of blue leggings.  His shoes are just as bright as everything else, blue with gold embroidery, and the blue cape is heavy and rich feeling.  Realizing that he's been fondling the material for some time now and that Spock can probably feel just how much he doesn't hate it, Jim clears his throat and begins to change.

 

Ducking behind a crate to change, Spock takes notice that the few engineers that had been around wandered off, so he steps behind the crate as well. As he assumed, Jim is struggling with the ties on his vest, so with a smile (on his lips this time) he steps forward to assist.

 

“You would have made a good nobleman,” Spock tells the captain, situating the cape over his shoulders so that it’s facing front, and turning the big gold fastener so it’s upright. He leans in for a little kiss, the kind he only affords when nobody is around.

 

“You two might be Vulcan-married but that doesn’t mean you can make out anywhere on the ship!” a familiar voice grits, even grumpier than usual. And when he makes his way around the crate, Jim can see why. Bones doesn’t look as silly as himself or Spock, but it definitely doesn’t look comfortable.

 

Wide leather straps cross McCoy’s arms, chest, waist and thighs – looking more like a sex accessory than an actual article of clothing. His black and purple shirt is tight under the straps with unnecessary poofs up near the top at his shoulders, and thick leather cuffs around his wrists. Black leggings tuck into big leather boots, and he has a cutlass attached to his hip.

 

“I feel like a gay pirate,” Bones grumps, adjusting a wedgie with a scowl.

 

Jim laughs, hard, almost as much at the look on Bones' face as at his get up.  He manages to calm himself for a moment and then he starts laughing again.  When he begins to calm down again, he opens his mouth to speak but lets out a rather juvenile little giggle instead.

 

“Speaking of homosexuality,” Spock speaks up suddenly. “Jim, you and I cannot broadcast our marriage on this planet. They are still in their developmental stage in which homosexuality is regarded as a sign of witchcraft. It is their belief that if one engages in a relationship with someone of the same sex, they have been possessed by an evil force trying to stop the species from continuing. Whether or not you agree with this belief of theirs, we cannot change it while still operating under the Prime Directive. So until our mission comes to a close, you are my lord and I am your manservant.”

 

"Huh," Jim says.  He certainly doesn't agree with it but he's perfectly accustomed to keeping up a professional front when it's necessary.  He shrugs.  "All right, then.  Come along, vassals.  Bones, keep the gay piracy to a minimum so no one thinks you're possessed either."  He laughs at his own joke, turns with a flourish of his cape that thrills him, privately, and heads for the shuttle bay with his bard and his personal guard in tow.

 

They all hop aboard a shuttle, and fly down to a remote part of a forest nearby to the reported tribble location. They fly the shuttle into the open mouth of a mossy cave and spend a few minutes covering the front with fern fronds and pine branches so that it can’t be seen.

 

“I think that will do it,” Spock announces when the last shimmer of silver is covered. He wipes his palms on his velvet britches with a nod of his head and picks his lute up from where he set it on a rock. “The village is half a mile away, and we will need to enter from the front gate. Jim, you’ll need to make a grand show of your entrance, announcing your lineage. Doctor, you will need to make sure that everybody stands back from him, and should anybody come too close, draw your sword. This needs to be legitimate, because we will need to be invited into the home of the lords of the village. It is there that the food stores that are being ransacked by the tribbles.”

 

Jim nods, considering all of this.  He tries to remember some of the period films he's seen or books that he's read.  "So, I'm... James son of George or are we talking... Music and a family tree, here?"  He has a few fancy mental images playing in his head but they all involve things like trumpets and horses and he doesn't even know if this planet has horses.  It wouldn't be bad if they did.  Jim is accustomed to his sturdy Starfleet boots and these thin shoes don't seem quite made for long walking trips.

 

“That title will do. You might want to make up a story about what your father does, how he obtained his riches, talking points so you can distract the lords of the houses while the doctor and I locate and apprehend the tribbles. You have quite a walk before then, so you have some time to think.”

 

"So, my father, George, is a... textiles merchant," Jim says after a moment's thought.  "That's why I'm such a snappy dresser.  He made his money... selling textiles, obviously.  I'm currently touring the country to get a little culture, learn a little bit.  Hey, do we have money or did we end up getting robbed on the road or something?

 

Spock points his thumb at Bones, who lifts a velvet pouch out of his pocket and jingles it around.

 

“That’s enough money to buy the village, almost,” Spock says. “It is customary for the guard to carry a lord’s money. There are many outlying homes in this area, so if we can find a norse to borrow from a farm, you should ride it.

 

“A norse? Do you mean a horse?” Bones puts his hands on his hips.

 

“No. A norse. It’s like a horse, only bigger and feathered.”

 

"A norse," Jim repeats.  "So, I'm James son of George from... elsewhere.  I'm rich, on a culture tour, and I'm looking for a norse."  True to Spock's word he can see a stream of smoke rising from over the hills and maybe the peak of a roof.  "I'm from... Iowa, far to the south and across the sea," he says, with a grandiose gesture.  He has no idea what the naming customs on Gliese are or whether or not anyone will know that there's no Iowa far to the south and across the sea.  He'll likely have to do quite a bit of improvising once he's  been to the city but for now he's got the backbone of something like a passable backstory.  "Sound good?  Sound stupid?"

 

“Incredibly. Let’s go,” Bones claps Jim on the back to start him forward.

 

The path to the village – called Proper, it turns out – is a rocky one. Literally. Jim is cursing every few steps as the bottom of his foot is jabbed with a rock through the unsubstantial silk shoe on his foot.

 

“Want your loyal guard to carry you, James from elsewhere?” Bones snorts when Jim starts staring purposefully at the ground to avoid stepping on any more rocks.

 

"You're joking," Jim says, picking his way carefully, a frown on his face, "But I kind of do.  Ugh, I feel like I'm wearing slippers."  The thin shoes might actually qualify as slippers, actually, with nothing but a thin leather sole between him and the packed earthen road.  He's ready for his ride.

 

Fifteen minutes of walking takes them to the edge of a humble farm. There’s a man standing in a field with what can only be a norse. It’s larger than a horse by half, the man’s head reaches its shoulders, and where there would be a mane and tail on a horse, there are long feathers that flutter and spread in the breeze. The entire creature is starlight white, its fluffy white feathers spread to catch the rays of the sun, and its toed hooves pawing at the grass.

 

“That, gentlemen,” Spock indicates the creature. The man beside it is totally oblivious to them with his back turned. “Is a norse.”

 

"That is cool," Jim answers.  And it'll get him off his feet.  Jim nods his head and closes the distance between himself and the stranger and says, "Excuse me, sir?  I'd like to rent this animal."

 

The man is clearly rather shocked by their sudden appearance and after having Jim repeat his request, he answers with a denomination that Jim doesn't recognize.  He's got no idea whether or not the price is fair or whether or not the amount Bones hands over is correct (he guesses that it's not by the way the man begins to stutter again) but they only have one denomination to choose from and the price doesn't put a noticeable dent in their pouch, either way.

 

He provides them with a saddle at no extra charge, though they've likely already paid for it, and even helps them saddle it.  Mounting the thing is just frightening enough to be exciting.  Jim treats it like a very large horse and it seems to work out relatively well. 

 

"So, wait," Jim says, looking after the owner as he moves out of earshot.  "Should we stop him and ask about where to find rides for you two?"

 

“No, we shouldn’t,” Spock shakes his head. “I am your bard, I’m just a servant. And, if we were attacked, your guard would need to be on his feet to protect you.”

 

“So WE get to walk. Lucky us,” Bones grumbles.

 

“You should not complain, doctor. Your shoes have soles,” Spock shoots back with just enough edge to his voice to shut Bones up.

 

"Sorry, guys," Jim says and he really does mean it.  He looks down at his rented norse and gives it a bit of a nudge to get going.  It doesn't so Jim nudges a little harder and tugs the reins to the right until the creature begins to turn and then to walk forward.  "There we go," he says as the norse settles into an easy walk. 

 

They make their way back out to the road, silent except for Jim's occasional comments to the norse.  Once he feels settled on the thing, he looks first down at Spock and then at Bones.  "So, we know who I am.  Who are you guys?"

 

“Leonard does not have to change his name,” Spock says, and he would look over at Bones except that there’s a giant wall of white norse in the way. “As I am your servant I will not speak unless spoken to directly, but in the event that I need to be introduced by name, I suppose you could call me Samuel.”

 

"Samuel," Jim repeats, trying the name out.  "Sammy.  So, Samuel.  Bones..." Jim trails off as something occurs to him and he looks sideways at his friend.    "Do you know how to use that thing," he asks, gesturing to the cutlass hanging from Bones' belt.  "Cause I don't seem to have been given a sword and Spock has a lute."  Hopefully they won't have to worry about anything worse than a tribble.  It never hurts to make sure, though.  Especially where the three of them are involved.

 

“I know a little bit,” Bones shrugs. “Sulu gave me a few crackjob lessons. Where I lack in finesse I make up for in my ability to swing things around like a caveman.”

 

Jim snorts.  "That'll work, I guess."  He goes silent for a while, watching the dirt road ahead, and when he speaks again (mostly to cover the awkward feeling of being the only one not walking) he says, "You know, I'd think I'd be one of those noblemen who carried a sword.  I mean, why wouldn't you?"  Perhaps his ideas about the primitive wilds are rather colored by video gaming (they haven't met a single wolf, yet) but it seems awfully fastidious to, not only expect protection but to expect everyone else to walk, as well.

 

“You are the son of a textile miller,” Spock reminds Jim of his own fabricated tale. “That lineage does not lend itself to an extensive knowledge of swordplay. Besides, Jim, you do not know how to wield a sword.”

 

“I do, too!” Jim protests.

 

“Skyrim does not count.”

 

Bones nearly blows a gasket laughing.

 

"It's very...  Shut up, Bones, of course I don't think Skyrim...  I can swing things around too, is all."  He laughs a little because Bones is and shakes his head at Spock.  "Besides, if people wouldn't think I could use a sword it won't look strange if I'm not good at it."  Jim sort of just wants a sword.  "Bam, logic."

 

“I don’t think you know what logic means, Jim.”

 

"Sure I do.  It's the use of valid reasoning or modes of reasoning to make inferences," Jim answers, maybe just a bit smugly.  He lives with Spock.  Even if he hadn't known what logic was, he does now.

 

“Yes, but what you used just now was not logic,” Spock shakes his head, the velvet cap bouncing. “It was simply your attempt to get a sword.”

 

"It was," Jim agrees, shrugging and smiling down at Spock.  He can see the walls of the city in the distance, now, and the roofs of buildings.  He thinks again about the grand entrance he's supposed to make and asks, "So, when we get there... I'm supposed to make an entrance.  What exactly is involved in making an entrance here?"

 

Spock talks Jim through the steps of “making an entrance” as they draw nearer and nearer to the village, until they’re too close for any more acting coaching. Heads are starting to turn at the sight of a man glad in golden cloth and fur riding atop a striking white norse. Before Jim can even say a word, though, Spock starts to play some little tune on the lute.

 

Jim puts on his best superior expression as the villagers outside the city gates begin to crowd around the three of them.  He doesn't feel all that superior, really, mostly just awkward and uncertain but he does his best to bury it as he announces his made up title to the guards at the gate, loud enough to be heard by those curious onlookers gathering. 

 

"I'm writing a book," he finds himself saying, when the guard inquires after his business, looking abashed as though the question might be offensive to someone like Jim.  "For travellers.  Noting some of the more impressive places and people I've found."  He looks down at Spock as if to ask, 'right?' even though it's too late to take the lie back now.  It will give him an excuse to ask questions and maybe attract the attention of the class of people vain enough to have music played while they introduce themselves.  The gates are thrown wide for them and Jim is relieved of the task of actually announcing himself by the guard who sounds kind of funny shouting, "James, son of George, from the southern land of Iowa!"  Jim bites his lip and rides on through.

 

It takes them all of five minutes for a man in green hose to come up to them, saying that the nobles of the village of Proper – up on the hill – heard of the visiting royalty and extend their invitation to him to stay while he is in the village.

 

Bones finds that he has way too much fun shooting off glares to get people to back up. If only it worked like this back on the ship.

 

Riding through the city is a slightly tricky business.  Jim doesn't want to run over the curious crowd even if the character he's playing likely wouldn't care.  Bones uses his eyebrows to great effect, however, and they work their way steadily up, through a bustling market, past a towering church, and finally to the stone manor at the top of the hill.  There is a finely dressed man waiting there with a cadre of less well-dressed men who end up taking Jim's norse after he dismounts. 

 

"James of Iowa, yes?"  Jim nods and the finely dressed man executes a bow that makes Jim feel like he should have practiced bowing a few times.  "I am Kendrick of Proper.  My father is the lord of this manor.  We are privileged to have your company."

 

"I am... privileged to be here," Jim answers and if Kendrick notices his hesitation, he doesn't mention it.  He doesn't say anything to Spock or to Bones but Jim supposes that's to be expected. 

 

They are taken inside the manor and led to a series of rooms that Jim is told he can make use of.  A few servants will be up soon with water so that they can clean up before actually going to see Kendrick's father, Alarick, Lord of Proper.  Jim doesn't bother to point out that they're hardly dirty after a little under an hour on the road.  A chance to talk privately now that they're inside won't hurt and they can't know when they'll get another chance.

 

"Well," Jim says, once Kendrick has left them alone.  "That worked."

 

“Indeed it did,” Spock says as he lays his lute down. “Now all you need to do is attend dinner and distract the royal family whilst Leonard and I locate the tribbles and remove them to containment on the ship.”

 

“Piece of cake,” Bones crosses his arms. “It’s not like they can run from us.”

 

"Have fun with that," Jim says, deciding to put off worrying about what dinner will be like until dinner.  He supposes Bones and Spock aren't invited anyway, if Kendrick's simpering invitation was anything to go by.  "What are you going to say if anyone catches you with them?"

 

“I do not suppose they will even know what they are looking at,” Spock shakes his head. “The bigger problem is what will happen if we are caught roaming the halls of this manor unaccompanied.”

 

“If we’re caught, then it’s because you wandered off and I’m the guard so I went to get you,” Bones shrugs. “Then they’ll leave you alone because they’ll expect your own lord to punish you.”

 

Spock’s face is blank and wide-eyed as he looks at the doctor. “That is brilliant,” he says after a moment.

 

“Don’t get cute,” Bones grunts.

 

Jim snickers.  "It freaks Bones out when you agree with him, Spock.  Just call him a moron and use his ideas when they sound good, right Bones?  Good idea, by the way.  Don't get caught, though."

 

“That would be preferable,” Spock agrees. “You should probably prepare yourself to meet the Lord of Proper.”

 

Jim is thinking about Spock and Bones the whole time he’s meeting with this guy. Lying about writing a book when you’re actually a starship captain is exhausting. Especially when your experience with writing is actually limited to paperwork and most of that is abbreviated military terms. But his bullshit is apparently made of gold, because Alarick is eating it up. He’s really pretentious, and he’s constantly asking about what parts of the town are going to be included in the book, and giving a million suggestions.

 

Jim is bored out of his skull by the time dinner is over, and he goes back to his room to hear that the plan went without a hitch. They weren’t caught, and all 113 tribbles were successfully beamed aboard the containment vessel on the ship. The bad news comes in the form of the fact that they have to stay the night, and can’t leave until they’ve returned the man’s norse.

 

It’s even worse that Jim is given a really nice room with a big cushy bed – too big – that Spock can’t sleep in. He’s given a room with two tiny cots to share with Bones, but that’s the way it is. Jim hasn’t slept alone in his bed for three years, and sleep doesn’t come easy.

 

When morning arrives, it takes them almost two hours to finally make their leave. Jim waves to the people of Proper, and Spock encourages Bones to “accidentally” drop his money pouch somewhere where a villager will find it. After all, they have no use for gold coins, since the Federation uses credits.

 

Norse returned, they head back to the shuttle. Jim practically sits in Spock’s lap. His cuddle tank is running on empty, and Bones’ eyes threaten to roll right out of his head.

 

Standing in front of a glass box stuffed end-to-end with purring tribbles while wearing tights and a cape was not something James Kirk ever thought he would do in his lifetime.


	2. II. Cuddling + XVI. Morning Rituals

The Klingon prison planet of Rura Penthe fills the Enterpise viewscreen, stark white and intimidating, even from orbit.  In the cold zone of a meager star, Rura Penthe is deadly for those who aren't prepared, and inhospitable even to those who are.  The only animals known to survive above ground are the Klingons' vicious jackal mastiffs, feral packs of which are said to roam the surface, set loose by the Klingons themselves to discourage escaping prisoners.  Below ground, Imperial criminals and prisoners of war mine dilithium for the Empire and die in droves.  It's the last place Jim would ever want to take his ship or his crew but here he is in orbit and, worse, he actually has to go down.

 

The Federation has lost a research team in this area, their last transmissions indicating that their ship, the U.S.S. Parthenon, had suffered a warp core malfunction over the planet.  It's bad enough to Jim that they're here, worse, though, is the fact that they aren't here for the people but the research.  Jim's orders are to find the lost craft, retrieve the tricorder data and return it to Starfleet headquarters.  The missing researchers seem to be optional. 

 

Scans of the planet turn up no humanoid lifeforms and no sign of the crashed vessel.  This is known to be absolutely untrue (the penal colony is full of humanoid life forms, at least) and that means, unfortunately, that the vessel has landed within the vast magnetic field surrounding the dilithium mines.  Their transporters won't work, nor with their comm units.  If they're going to find the Parthenon (and hopefully her crew), they're going to have to suit up and take a shuttle down.  The smaller the away team, the better.  Starfleet doesn't have to impress on the Enterprise crew the delicate nature of the situation, they're certain. 

 

Jim watches the planet in the view screen for some time after he closes the encrypted channel to Starfleet command and then he gets to his feet and nods for Spock to follow him into the turbolift.

 

"You hear how he was talking about those researchers?  We'll be just as expendable if we can't get this data," he says, once they're alone, tone sour.  "I don't like this."

 

“We will find them, Jim,” Spock says, adjusting the captain’s ruffled feathers. “Once we get past the external magnetic field we will be able to use handheld scanners to look for signs of life. We will need to be within five square miles of the life signs, but we don’t have any orders after we get the data. We could spend two days or two years looking for them.”

 

He knows about Jim’s need to help people. Of all the traits in his husband, it is one of Spock’s favorite. His constant, burning need to do anything in his power – risk his career, his own life – to save people. He admires this in Jim, has admired it since long before he and Jim started their romantic relationship.

 

Jim nods his head.  Spock and his technicalities.  Often used to make Jim wrong in arguments, this one makes him feel a bit better instead.  Spock's right.  They'll have to be careful but Starfleet hadn't told them not to look for the Parthenon's crew. 

 

The turbolift stops on the engineering deck and the two of them make their way towards the shuttle bay.  Bones is there when they arrive, watching ensigns load their shuttle with emergency supplies and Uhura is inside the shuttle already, punching randomized encrypted frequencies into the comm unit and it takes her a moment to join the rest of the landing party outside.

 

"Is everybody ready for this," Jim asks, looking around the group.  "We won't have to mess with Klingons if we're lucky, they'll be underground.  We might have to deal with their dogs though, so keep a sharp eye out."

 

“Ready as I’m ever going to be,” Bones grunts as he struggles with the complicated clasps on his envirosuit.

 

Uhura steps up to help him work through the fastenings. “How long are we going to be down there, captain?” she asks.

 

Jim shrugs.  "Long enough to find the Parthenon.  Her crew too if we can help it.  Not long enough for the Klingons to find us."  At the look she gives him, he shrugs again and says, "I really wish I could say something a little more definite but I can't."  It bothers him, too, and Jim frowns as he works his way into his envirosuit as the shuttle lifts off with a bit of a jolt and passes through the shuttle bay doors. 

 

"I'd say we should split up," Jim says, once he's in the thing.  "But there are packs of big hungry dogs running around.  So we're just going to have to be quick."

 

Spock reaches over to take Jim’s hand. Their skin isn’t touching through their envirosuits, so he can’t send Jim gentle telepathic feelings through touch, but he tries to be as calming as possible in the bond so that it will rub off on Jim. The captain does seem to relax a bit and he offers his bondmate a smile before clicking the helmet onto his suit.

 

The shuttle lands outside the magnetic field about a dozen feet from the edge of a drop-off, so it won’t disrupt anything, and they do a quick scan. Still no signs, not until they get past the external layer of the field and deeper inside.

 

“We’re going to have to go on foot,” Jim tells the others through the comm. in their suit helmets, even though they’re still in close quarters in the shuttle. “Is everyone’s suit heated up right? Spock, are you warm enough?”

 

“My temperature is average,” Spock nods.

 

Jim is anxious about letting his hot-blooded bondmate go frolicking in the snow, but trying to do this without his support would be even worse. The Vulcan kiss they share is less intimate than usual through the envirogloves, but it’s the gesture that counts. The door opens, and Spock immediately adjusts his temperature settings because even through the suit he feels the chill.

 

The walk is dreadful. Expanses of white in all directions with the sun beating directly down on them. Heavy, grey clouds hang in the distance, but don’t seem to be drawing any nearer.

 

“Shouldn’t we actually be able to SEE the shuttle from here? Everything is so damn flat,” the doctor complains, turning up the temperature in his suit by a few degrees.

 

“It crash landed on a rock formation,” Uhura shakes her head, even though it can’t be seen in her helmet. “So until we see rocks, we can assume we won’t see the shuttle.”

 

Conversation is limited for the next two hours. They head in a straight line, single-file behind the captain, bored out of their minds. Bones ends up humming at one point without realizing that his comm. was still on, and curses about it. Uhura suggests they try to pass the time, but Spock says that “I Spy” probably would not be a very good idea. Spock keeps them updated on the status of his scan for life forms – the crew of the Parthenon is not within five miles of them, consistently.

 

They finally come upon a hill, and down at the bottom on a rocky crag are the remains of the Parthenon. Everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief as they head down to it. A small pack of jackals are inside, but they’re very easily subdued with a stun beam from the phaser, and set in a pile by Spock where they will keep one another warm with their body heat. Bones keeps his phaser set on them in case they wake up while Spock and Uhura climb inside the wreckage. There’s no one inside, of course, but they manage to collect the data.

 

“We won’t be able to the send the data from here,” Uhura sighs as she drops down out of the shuttle. “It’ll never make it out of the field. We’re going to have to send it from the Enterprise.”

 

“I suggest that we return to our shuttle and allow Lieutenant Uhura to beam up with the data,” Spock suggests, looking at the time on his internal suit clock. “And then the doctor, myself and Jim, we can continue in our search for the missing crew.”

 

“Good a plan as any,” Bones shrugs, and starts back on the path the four of them left through the snow.

 

An hour later, snow starts to drift down, and they pick up the pace. As long as they move in a straight line they’ll come back across their shuttle eventually, but the idea of their footsteps being erased in the snow is not a nice one.

 

“Those clouds are coming in closer,” Spock states obviously, indicating the previous thick clouds that are slowly creeping towards them in the sky. “I estimate those clouds will bring with them a foot or more of snow.”

 

They kick up the pace again; temperatures in the suits turned down as they nearly jog, and their bodies heat up from exertion. They can see the shuttle in the distance, it’s about 200 feet away –

 

And then they hear a growl.

 

Four sets of legs stop and turn and they see the pack of jackals they’d abandoned unconscious by the Parthenon gaining on them. They stare for less than two seconds before Bones shouts “run!” and they’re off. They’ll be safe if they can take off in the shuttle, that’s all they need. Two hundred feet is a long way to run when you’re in a heavy suit in two feet of snow, and the creatures chasing you are designed to run in this kind of weather.

 

They reach the shuttle. Spock throws open the door, the dogs are gaining. He shoves Uhura inside, she pulls Bones up.

 

Spock feels a weight on him, and he’s thrown to his side. One of the jackals pounced him and is about to bite in when Jim pins a photon through its side, on kill. He’s not fucking around with stun this time. Spock shoves the beast off of his body and the shuttle starts to hum, ready for take off. Jim is shooting at a few of the other jackals, but they’re quick.

 

“Just climb in dammit!” Bones shouts.

 

Spock sprints forward, but there’s another pounce. This time, his back doesn’t hit the ground. Jim turns in time to see Spock and the jackal tumble right over the side of the ledge the shuttle is parked near. Heart icy, he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until the wind is rushing past him and he’s falling, too, falling and looking for Spock.

 

The incline is just so, it catches him and he tumbles. Nothing breaks, everything is cold and he’s very dizzy, and just when he thinks the falling is done, he rolls right into a deep crevice, and comes to rest on an icy ledge. He’s panting and shaking, but he can still feel Spock’s presence through the bond so he knows he’s not dead. Standing on unsteady feet, he can see that both Spock and the jackal fell into the same crevice, and they’re about a hundred feet away. He scrambles down from the ledge to the bottom of the canyon they’re in.

 

The jackal is motionless, probably dead, on its side. Spock is slowly, unsteadily rising to his feet. He’s trembling badly enough that Jim can see it from seventy feet away now, and he calls out to Spock but their comms are out so his voice is lost in his own helmet. He fiddles with the external device until it crackles back on, and he can hear Spock panting and whimpering.

 

“Spock, I’m here!” he calls, and watches as Spock stumbles and catches himself on the icy canyon wall. “Spock!”

 

“Jim,” Spock’s voice is choked and he falls to his knees. Jim’s heart is failing, he’s sure, as he gets up to him and pushes Spock around to face him.

 

Three massive gashes have torn through the front of his suit. There are no signs of blood, so he’s not injured, but the suit is compromised which means the environmental controls have failed, and according to Jim’s display, it’s currently 12 degrees above zero.

 

Jim's heart is in his throat.  Spock can't take this.  Hell, Jim couldn't take this cold for very long himself; Spock is in trouble.  Damaged as it is, his suit is useless.  Its utility comes in its airtight seal and computer controlled heating units.  Without either, it's just a relatively thin suit in weather that is near zero and dropping steadily.  Jim casts a worried look toward the top of the ravine and the darkening sky beyond that.  He thinks again of that foot of snow that Spock had forecast.   

"C'mon," Jim says, threading an arm under Spock's shoulders and hauling him to his feet.  He can feel Spock's violent shaking through their suits so he pulls him closer and starts looking for a way back up the ravine now that he will be fighting gravity rather than sliding along with it.  It's slow going from the start.  Poor Spock is all but useless, racked by tremors so violent that he can barely walk.  Jim has felt freezing temperatures before, knows how the muscles will ache and lock and the weight of each step will grow.  Spock doesn't even argue when Jim lifts him right off his feet.  He doesn't say anything, really, hasn't since Jim found him at the bottom of the ravine and worry burns like a cold star in Jim's gut. 

 

"We're going to be fine," Jim pants, struggling through the deep snow with his burden.  The sky above is thick with low-hanging dark gray clouds, though and the wind has picked up fiercely enough to pull at his suit and stir the powder fine drifts of snow. According to his readout it is only six degrees above zero.

 

Jim spotting the cave before the snow begins to fall is the only thing that saves them.  Cut into the side of the ravine, its entrance is so narrow that Jim originally dismisses it as a crack in the stone, and then he only keeps his eye on it in case one of Rura Penthe's vicious underground predators is waiting in ambush.  When the first flakes go whirling past, Jim begins to move toward the cave's mouth and by the time the stuff is falling thickly enough to have a dangerous effect on visibility, Jim is sliding through the crack with Spock in tow. 

 

He lowers Spock easily to the floor of the cave and, before he does anything else, checks all the way to the shadows in the back, finding it both empty and relatively shallow.  Easier to warm, Jim thinks, eyes now casting about the cave for something to heat, brain in full on detached problem solving mode because he can't actually consider Spock freezing to death if he wants to get anything useful done.  He settles on a stout, broken off stalagmite, set near to the wall and turns his phaser on it, sending a long steady stream of energy that, after a few moments have passed, heats the stone until it begins to glow faintly orange.  It's not as good as a fire for heat but it'll do in a pinch.

 

"Spock," he says again once he's joined the Vulcan again, his preparations made.  Spock doesn't answer though he seems to be awake. He's still trembling but the movement has become frighteningly sluggish and, behind the visor of his helment, his lips are green and his face flushed with cold.  With the bulky, useless suits in the way, Jim isn't going to be able to get him warmed back up, so he doesn't even hesitate, just pulls Spock closer to the radiant heat of the rock and begins to remove his own envirosuit first, struggling with the clasps with fingers that shake with fear more than cold.  He removes Spock's as well and then spreads them out to give the two of them something other than the frozen cave floor to sit on.  He settles down on his bulky, makeshift pallet with Spock and begins to rub vigorously at Spock's arms, his legs, his hands.  Spock's boots are probably the warmest piece of clothing he has on and it's by no means warm in the cave yet, so Jim leaves them on.

 

"Come on, Spock," he says again once his arms are too tired to carry on.  He pulls Spock in close to him, up tight against his chest, and sits there with is arms around him and his nose in Spock's hair, holding him between the heat of the stalagmite and the heat of his own body.

 

Spock isn’t even lucid. He’s internally aware of his own slowing heartbeat, but his eyes have glazed over and his skin feels like paper and everything is sharp and abrasive. Even the touch of Jim’s hands burn him and he whimpers. Closing his stinging eyes, Spock tries to get away from the source of the pain, but then he feels arms wrap around him and he realizes that this is Jim. Jim has him, Jim is keeping him safe.

 

Tears are scalding on his face, his shaking intensifies, and he presses into the heat of Jim’s body. His legs curl up between the human’s and he turns his numb body to press his frozen face into the side of Jim’s neck, which has yet to cool in the frigid air. He turns his body to face the glowing rock, and lifts his dumbed arms to press against his own chest, trying to keep the heat in.

 

“Jim,” his voice is hoarse. “I’m very tired.”

 

"I bet you are," Jim answers but it sounds a lot more like, 'I'm so glad you're ok,' and he gives Spock a relieved squeeze, kisses his hair, and rubs his shaking back.  "You've had a rough time, Spock," he adds, because it's better than, 'I almost lost my mind worrying about you.' 

 

Jim's had a rough time too, sitting alone in a freezing cave with nothing but the howl of the icy wind for company, worried out of his mind.  Jim, at least, gets to feel a little bit better now that Spock's waking back up, though.  Poor Spock looks and sounds like he feels rough.  They aren't out of the woods yet, either.  The blizzard is still raging outside and they are stuck in a cave a quarter of the way up an exhausting ravine.  Jim is exhausted, Spock is half out of it and they have one environmental suit.  They can contact Bones when the blizzard lets up but for now, there doesn't seem to be much else they can do.

 

Spock scoots up higher on Jim’s body and clings to him desperately, trying to absorb his warmth. He would cry with pain and terror, but logically they could be here for days and he needs to preserve the water in his body.

 

“Are you unhurt?” his voice is a dry croak, and he’s just trying to keep himself awake for the time being in case he has a concussion.

 

It occurs to Jim that he hasn't even considered this.  He does so now, hands still moving idly over Spock's back.  He's obviously not badly injured, a few bumps and scrapes that he can feel but fine otherwise.  He'll probably feel awful in the morning once his body has time to fully realize the tumble he'd taken today.  "I'm all right," he says.  "How about you?  Feel anything but cold yet?"

 

Spock shakes his head dumbly, his body a heavy, dull weight against Jim. “I am… frightened,” he murmurs. “I believed I was going to die. Did you fall as well?”

 

"Not as far as you did," Jim answers.  "And without the big snowdog hanging off me."  Despite that Jim has tried to keep his tone light, the mental images his own words conjure in him make him shiver.  "I'm really glad you started talking again, Spock."

 

Spock hums. “It hurts my throat,” he admits. His body tightens up and tenses against Jim when a piece of ice crumbles from above and cracks against the stone floor into pieces. He presses against his bondmate, threats indiscernible from one another in his icy haze. Falling ice chunks become as frightening and dangerous as hungry wild animals, and Jim is the only person alive who can save him.

 

"Shit," Jim yelps, startling and squeezing Spock even tighter for a moment.  Jim's heart thumps like a frightened rabbit in the silence that follows and he breathes deeply to calm himself down.  "Ok," he says, after a second, his voice just a touch higher than normal.  "So.  We've heated up a frozen cave.  I was wondering if I could get away with a little more, guess I might not ought to."

 

Spock wants to cry. He’s delirious, frozen, stranded, and fairly soon he’ll get hungry and potentially begin to hallucinate and pass out. That is, if he isn’t concussed, in which case losing consciousness could be fatal. He could die here, in this cave, and leave Jim all alone and helpless at the bottom of a cliff – the others might not even be looking for them, because the research was top priority. And they were being attacked by wild dogs – and if Spock’s suit is compromised then that means his tracking capabilities are as shot as his environmental control. And Jim has his off so that they can sit on top of it, so they can’t track Jim’s location so –

 

Spock’s internal anxiety attack comes screeching to a halt.

 

“Jim?”

 

“Spock?”

 

“Your suit is still functional, correct?”

 

“It is.”

 

“Then why are we sitting _on top of it_ rather than lying _beneath it_ with the heat turned up?”

 

Oh.

 

Jim could smack himself.  "Because you were nearly unconscious and I'm an idiot.  Then our shortwave tracking would be on and if- when Bones comes looking he can find our signal and..."  Jim sighs.  "C'mon, then.  We have to get up."

 

Spock whimpers a little as Jim lets him lean against the cave wall, as close to the still-burning rock as he can get without getting a burn himself. Jim turns the suit on and closes it up, turns it up as hot as it will go. There’s only a couple species that can handle the suit’s temperature as hot as it can get, and neither of them are part of those species, but the hottest temperature is warm enough that the suit is hot from the outside, too. They have to keep the bulky helmet attached for it to be airtight and the controls to work, but it’s worth it. Spock scoots into Jim’s lap again and drapes the heating suit over himself, settling the helmet on the shoulder of Jim’s that his own head isn’t lying on.

 

“How long are we going to be here, Jim?” he asks after a long, tense silence.

 

That gives Jim a moment's pause.  It honestly hasn't been a central thought for him yet; first he was worried about keeping Spock alive and then he was busy being glad that he was and they've only just now begun signaling for help.  Jim looks toward the cave entrance, at the snow still gusting in through the gap there. 

 

They have no idea how long this will last, when it will be safe for anyone to even begin the search.  "I don't know," he finally says.  "When the blizzard ends.  When Bones can make it here.  They'll come," he finishes, and he almost manages to sound determined.

 

“What if they do not? We need to be prepared for all possibilities,” Spock says. “We need to have a plan if we are not found and rescued.”

 

Jim lets out a thoughtful sigh and stares at the wall of the cave as he thinks.  His thoughts aren't very encouraging once he goes past the away team picking up their transmitter frequency.  It's a pretty decent shot, granted.  They are within shortwave range of the landing zone which will be the first place a search team will start.  They can stay put for a while once the storm clears; one guy wandering the wastes in a suit won't do much good and neither of them will make it to the top of the ravine without.  If no rescue comes within, say, an hour or so then, Jim supposes, one of them can take the suit and search for them.  If there's no search team to find, it will be because the Enterprise has left orbit with the data and then Jim can't really think of anything that they can do with one suit that doesn't sound even too suicidal for him.  Empire officials are the only beings capable of just leaving Rura Penthe.  There is no one they can go to for help, one look at their faces and they'll be thrown into the dilithium mines for the rest of their lives.  Spock's suit might be repaired, though Jim doubts it when they only available materials are the only other suit they have and a bunch of rock and snow. 

 

He sounds rather tired when he says, "I don't know.  If they can't track us down and we miss them then, I don't know.  Not with what we have."  He sounds almost guilty as he says it.  "I'll keep working on it."

 

“Perhaps, given the options, the most logical and least painless course of action to be taken in that case is a mutual suicide,” Spock suggests grimly. He doesn’t like the sound of it, but it’s better than freezing, starving, getting eaten by wild animals, or getting taken by the empire and forced into the mines, in which case they would never see each other again.

 

Jim feels heavy all of a sudden.  He sighs again and curls a little tighter around Spock.  Such an obviously shady mission, with obviously shady parameters.  Every alarm bell in Jim's head has been going off since the briefing and still, here Jim is sitting in a frozen cave beneath Spock and a bulky envirosuit, talking about the possibility of mutual suicide.  "Let's... let's talk about that when the time comes for it.  We still have a chance of getting out of here."

 

Spock nods against Jim’s shoulder. At least the suggestion is up in the air and he doesn’t have to suffer under the weight and severity of it alone. He pulls his knees up against his chest and presses as much of himself into Jim as possible, feeling significantly warmer than he did before. Now that he is thawing, Spock is becoming aware of every little ache and scrape on his body.

 

“I don’t have a concussion,” he decides. He’s been concussed in the past, and he was sure to take very careful observations at the time. “So I believe it will be safe for me to take rest. I suggest you do the same – but if you would heat the rock again before you do, I would appreciate it.”

 

Jim isn't sure how he's going to sleep like this, with the cave wall digging into his back and every bump in the suit obvious against the hard stone floor.  He nods his head, though, and lets go of Spock long enough to reach for the phaser on the cave floor beside them.  Once the rock is glowing dimly once more, Jim shifts beneath Spock and then pulls him in close again, leaning forward to rest his head on Spock's shoulder.  Everything is going to be fine.  The blizzard will wear itself out, Bones and an away team will find their signal.  Everything will be fine.  Spock is alive and Jim's alive and that's better than they could be under these circumstances.  "I love you, Spock," he finds himself saying, half muffled by Spock's shoulder.  "I'm glad you're all right."

 

“I love you as well, Jim,” Spock mumbles as he falls asleep.

 

The next day passes very slowly.

 

Spock can’t actually come out from under the suit for too long at a time before he starts to get sluggish and dumb, so he spends most of his time wrapped in the suit. Jim, with his lower cold intolerance, goes out the entrance to the cave every other hour to see if there’s anyone on the horizon. But the blizzard is still whiting everything out, and Jim usually spends most of that time kicking the fluffy snow away from the entrance so they won’t get snowed in.

 

Looks like Spock misforcast. That one foot of snow he predicted turns into three, into five, and Jim has to heave the snow away from the entrance every hour after half a day passes because it’s getting so thick.

 

“The ravine is going to fill in,” Spock moans grimly at one point after they’ve been trapped for 16 hours.

 

Jim frowns at that but isn't sure what to say at first.  He's starving and his hands are practically frozen after his latest battle with the snow at the entrance to the cave.  The heat from the rock makes his fingers tingle when he holds them up close.  Neither of them are in the best mood right now but Jim is too tired to be legitimately grouchy.  He's just exhausted.  "The away team can dig us out when they come," he says, after a moment.  "We're fine as long as our signal can reach the landing zone and it'll take a lot of snow to put us too far under for that."

 

“About half a mile,” Spock agrees. “However, the deeper under the snow we get, the closer the away team’s instruments have to be in order to get a reading on us. If we are a third of a mile beneath the snow because of this ravine, they will need to get within two miles of us.”

 

"Well, we have to depend on that happening, I guess," Jim says, moving away from the stone now so that he can drop wearily onto Spock's suit.  "If it doesn't, I don't suppose there's much to talk about."  All right, so maybe he is a little grouchy by now.  "Sorry, I just...  I don't know what else we can do, Spock."

 

Spock curls up a little tighter on himself. “My apologies. In situations such as this, I need to go over the facts, or I will begin to consider the hypotheticals, and that… that gets frightening.”

 

Jim has been considering hypothetical outcomes for their situation for a while now and Spock is right.  It's frightening and Jim feels helpless and stupid for ignoring his instincts and ending up here in the first place.  They've thought about the problem and talked about the problem and they don't even know if it actually is a problem yet.  They might very well found without much trouble at all.  The worst part might be just digging them out of the cave.  If they're not...  well, they'll think about that when they're not.

 

"Sorry," he says again, shifting closer to Spock and cuddling up both to apologize and to share the warmth of their functioning suit.  He wants to say more than that, wants to say something encouraging or maybe distracting and get Spock talking about something other than what's going on.  Nothing comes to mind, though, except that he's hungry and stuck and cold and all but powerless to change any of those things.  Distracting Spock is rather a challenge when he can’t even distract himself.

 

Spock presses into Jim again and closes his eyes. He’s been at a steady level of almost warm enough to function, but just too cold to move properly. He’s got to spend most of his energy just staying awake, or he’d waste away into a coma. He moves like he’s just woken up most of the time, with half-lidded eyes and tired fingers.

 

The hours drag on and on, and they have to huddle together over the frigid night.

 

Thirty hours in a frozen cave has not treated them well. Spock is sluggish even under the suit, to the point where he can’t afford to move out from under it for a moment or he’ll take a major toll to his health. Which is already failing.

 

But just as they thing things can’t get worse, when morning comes they hear snarling. A pack of jackals has found their scent – whether it’s the same pack or a new one – and they’re crowding around the entrance. A few actually try to prowl inside, jaws snapping and claws lashing, but the crevice is much too narrow for them to fit through. Their paws swipe in as far as they can get, and then they shove in their noses and bark at the frightened pair.

 

“Jim,” he whispers, relying on the slightly more lucid of the two of them to protect him.

 

Jim swears under his breath after the initial surge of fear and fumbles for his phaser, scrambling up to his unsteady feet and firing on one huge, swiping paw.  The jackal on the other end lets out a roar of pain that fills their cave all the way to the back and he retreats but this only leaves room for others to try and fight their way through.  Jim scares off a few more with well placed shots and, to be perfectly honest, he wouldn't likely feel any compunction for killing every single one of them right here if he could get decent kill shot in with all of them scrambling at the crevice this way.  It's their fault that he and Spock are stuck here instead of on the Galileo or maybe even the Enterprise ditching this sector after a job well done. 

 

Instead he just tags them with phaser fire until they eventually stop coming.  He thinks one or two might have fallen but he cannot be sure without sticking his head out to see and he's not quite ready to do that.  He and Spock sit like that for a while, tense and silent, waiting for the beasts to return and when they don't, Jim notices that he is shaking again with cold and adrenaline. 

 

"Those fucking things," he gripes, working his way back under the envirosuit with Spock.  "If I never see one of those things again... And snow, fuck the snow.  Fuck this whole planet."  If he sounds childish, he feels moreso.  Pissy and tired and starving and worried out of his mind over Spock.  When he's not incredibly bored he's incredibly frightened and he wakes from each little bit of rest feeling somehow worse than when he'd dozed off.  His body is revolting at the results of taking a tumble down a ravine and then sleeping in a cave for...  Spock probably knows how long its been.  Jim doesn't.  He doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to think about how long they've been stuck here with Spock slowly freezing to death.

 

Three days. It’s been three days. Sometimes being always aware of the passing of time is a curse.

 

Spock is getting weaker by the hour. Jim has to pay more attention now, lifting the envirosuit when it falls because Spock is too fuzzy to even hold it up anymore. Jim has never been more worried for Spock in all their time together.

 

The worst part, though, is he can feel their bond slowly weakening with the backsliding of Spock’s health. He can literally feel Spock dying. The suit isn’t keeping him alive the way it should be, and his core temperature is dropping with each hour that passes.

 

Jim would be panicking if he had the energy.  As it is, he holds Spock close to him and tries to keep him talking, tries to keep him warm.  Something of a listless resignation seems to have settled over them both.  Even if the away team wants to look for them, this weather simply isn't permitting it.  Now Jim is starting to consider Spock's other suggestion, the hateful one that he's kept himself from thinking about all this time.  Even now, though, they're alive.  They could still be found.  Bones wouldn't let the Enterpise leave the sector without them, not without a fight.  It's a meager hope but it's a hope all the same and Jim holds onto it because otherwise, there's no point in not curling up into a miserable ball right now and giving up.  It's still better than the dilithium mines.

 

"Remember that crazy shit on Risa," he finds himself asking, once, rather out of the blue, speaking for himself almost as much as for Spock.  He spends a moment talking about swimming lessons and fistfights and shopping, needs to fill the awful silence with something.  "That club we went to.  Shit went downhill after that but I still think that's one of the best nights I can remember.  It was the first time it ever occurred to me that you might be interested in me.  I just thought you looked at everyone all intense like that."

 

Spock laughs breathlessly, and it turns into a feeble cough. “I remember that night, as well. I was previously unaware of the fact that one could make _good_ decisions while intoxicated.”

 

He’s dying, he can feel it. His body is slowly shutting down. He doesn’t get pneumonia like humans do, but his body will eventually give up under the strain of keeping alive in such freezing temperatures.

 

“My favorite day is when we bonded,” he says sleepily. “I was under the Plak Tow, so I do not remember most of the fine details… but I remember the feeling when our minds twined together and the knowledge that they would never again let go… it was more beautiful than I thought it could possibly be.”

 

Jim's smile has a worried edge to it but it's there just the same.  That moment stands out, rather like their first mind meld, as one of the most intensely emotional moments of his life.  He'd been lost in the feedback loop of their overlapping thoughts and feelings and, "I cried like a baby in front of all your Vulcan elders," he says.  Even though the days that had followed had left him rather decidedly out of commission he remembers Spock's first Pon Farr rather fondly, himself.  The bond forged that day has been a warm constant ever since.  Right up until now.  Jim can feel it guttering like a dying flame and he's utterly terrified.  "I really do love you, Spock," he says and he wishes that his voice hadn't broken on the words and that it didn't sound so much like ending as it does.

 

Spock closes his eyes. He’s ready to die, if those are the last words he’ll ever hear.   
  
“Jim! Spock! Are you around here!?”  
  
Spock feels a surge of energy rippled through him and he shoots up into a sitting position. He exchanges a look of shock with Jim, mouths open, trying to discern if the other really heard that too.

 

It’s Bones. His voice cuts through the cold evening air right into the guts of both men, and energy that left them over the days comes rushing into their tired, hungry, frozen bodies.

 

"Oh god," Jim says.  He separates himself from Spock and dashes to the mouth of the cave with energy he didn't know he still had.  It's utterly freezing once Jim gets outside and even the meager gleam of the setting sun off all of that pure white snow blinds him.  He shields his eyes with his hand and turns a full circle before he spots Bones and Uhura a little further up the trail.  A hot flash of relief washes through him and he waves his arms to catch Bones' attention.

 

"Hey!  In here," he shouts back, waving frantically toward the cave.  "God am I glad to see you guys.  Spock's in trouble, he's... Come on!"  Hugging himself against the freezing temperatures, Jim shuts his mouth and makes back toward the cave entrance.  The interior feels almost hot now, after the cold outside.  Not even a full minute and Jim's nose, ears, and fingers ache in the relative heat that they've built up in here.  "Spock!  We're all right now, how you doing?  Bones is right outside."

 

Spock doesn’t answer. The relief that washed through him and the resignation to their discovery have left him now, and he collapsed into unconsciousness on his side. He doesn’t hear Jim’s shout, he doesn’t feel his body lifted up off the cave floor. He’s passed through the mouth of the cave, and carried at top speed to the shuttle. Jim shouts the whole time and even in the frozen air he’s hot with fear.

 

They’re in sickbay within the hour, getting water pumped into their bodies through an IV. Spock has his vitals checked every hour on the hour, and even though Jim should be resting he can’t stop staring at Spock.

 

With all of the worry in the way, it takes a while but he does begin to drift off, eventually.  What sleep he does get is restless, though, and he wakes often to check on Spock as if his brain refuses to shut down completely while his bondmate is out like this.  So Jim tosses and turns and fusses with his IV and naps and waits and Spock still hasn't woken up yet.  He stares at the ceiling and scratches at the three day old growth of stubble on his face.  He wants to shave.  He wants to eat something solid and hot.  He wants to brush his teeth.  He'd really like for Spock to wake up.

 

The bond between them is still frighteningly weak but Jim pushes at it with his thoughts, all love and pleading and worry but still Spock's eyes stay shut.

 

It’s sixteen hours before Spock wakes. His body shut down into emergency healing meditation as soon as he knew he would be rescued. He’s groggy when he wakes up, but feeling very, very warm. All he can do is smile as he stares over to the side and meets Jim’s eyes.

 

“I want a shower,” he says hoarsely.

 

Jim smiles back, exhausted but happy.  He can feel Spock again when he looks for him and it's the most reassuring thing in the world.  "Me too," he says, the and the levity of it all belies the long worried hours that Jim's been waiting for this.  "We're smelling up this whole room.  The nurses come in and then run back out.  Bones looks even more sour than normal."

 

Spock laughs breathily. “Are we cleared to go back to our room or do we need to stay? Because I would really like to take a warm shower with you and then… crawl into bed and stay there for 24 hours.”

 

That sounds like the best idea Jim's heard all day.  Jim's too worn out by this point to think of much more than warm water and a soft bed and the relief of hearing Spock speak to him has left him without even fear to keep his mind running in a forward direction.  He could probably fall asleep right here but Spock's idea is the better one so he pushes the button on the rail of his bed that will make that particular annoying buzzer go off in Bones' office.  "Bones, Spock is awake.  Come tell us we can leave medbay," he says and then he lets the button go and offers Spock a shrug of his shoulders.

 

Bones huffs and puffs for twenty minutes before finally excusing the two of them. They lean on each other all the way to their room, and stumble into the bathroom together. They clumsily undress each other and look at the dirt and blood caked onto one another with a dry chuckle.

 

The shower is a little hot, but it’s good on their tired bodies, and they alternate leaning against one another, and leaning against the shower wall. They share a couple lazy kisses that go nowhere, and scrub each others bodies gently with soft washcloths. They nuzzle and giggle together, utterly exhausted to the point of hysteria.

 

Their bodies are sluggish as they step out of the shower and they slowly dry each other off, taking their own sweet time spreading towels over one another and cataloguing every detail of one another that they nearly lost in the snow.

 

They look in the mirror at once and for the first time really register the stubble that has grown on their cheeks. They laugh at their own shagginess, and take a little bit longer than necessary to shave. If they want to tumble into bed for hours and hours they want to do it while able to nuzzle against each other without scratching themselves.

 

Jim almost feels like a new man.  He's still tired to the point of something delirium but he can accept that now that he knows bed is coming.  He's so happy to be back here with Spock that he spends a while watching him in the mirror while they shave and brush three days worth of awful from their teeth.  Three days.  Jim can hardly believe it, even if the evidence is written all over their tired faces.  He thinks of those last desperate minutes and the awful resignation that had sunk in and he moves up behind Spock to kiss his neck and hold him and revel in the fact that he's here and warm and alive.

 

"Let's go to bed," he says, his words half slurred by exhaustion and Spock's skin and he gives him a squeeze around the middle before pulling him along out of the head and into their shared quarters.


	3. III. Gaming

The planet is called Evolutarianisticographeus. They shortened it to Evo.

 

Evo was a very nice planet, once upon a time. But, like so many evolutionary tales before it, the native people sucked the planet dry in a few million years, until there was nothing left.

 

However, there was an upside.

 

The evotars were able to build a virtual world. They plugged into their creation 24/7/365, are fed nutrients through a series of vitamin shots that they aren’t even lucid enough to realize are being administered. Because 99.98% of the brain becomes occupied by the cybernetic world. The inhabitants of the planet eat, sleep, go to work, play, get married and have children in this virtual world.

 

Everything feels real, everything tastes real. The pain is real, the pleasure is real, and the best part is everything is completely customizable. When you log on, you create your starting “avatar” which can be changed at any point in your virtual lifetime with the right amount of currency. Everything from skin tone to body shape to gender can be changed from day to day if you have the money to do it.

 

Needless to say, when Jim hears about this planet, he’s all abuzz with energy, wanting to go visit. It’s been three years since he took a shore leave off the planet, after a drastic double-failure years ago when a ship-wide shore leave went bad twice in one week on two different planets.

 

But this is virtual. Jim can’t accidentally punch a prince and there aren’t any hostile aliens.

 

So he beams down to the planet with Spock and a few other interested parties, and they’re immediately greeted with a very barren rock of a planet, with boxy metal structures all over. The insides of these buildings are very plain, with rows upon rows of people strapped into machines, wearing full-body neural transmitting suits. Jim and Spock and several crew members all squeeze themselves into the skin-tight outfits, and plug into the system.

 

They’re greeted with a ten-minute video on the laws of the universe and how best to enjoy their stay. Murder is illegal – it won’t kill the person on the outside but the pain is real and the shock of being logged out of the system that quickly can be mind-altering.

 

Then they’re each faced with a console with millions of options – as well as the option to scan your body in perfect detail rather than make an avatar. Spock reaches for the “scan” option.

 

“Spock, no!” Jim laughs.

 

Spock hesitates. “Why?”

 

"Cause it's boring," Jim says, as if the answer should be obvious.  "You could be anything and you don't want to try something else?  I mean, I like you I just..."  The rest of that sentence sounds rather insulting, so Jim bites it off and grins a little bit at Spock.  He certainly doesn't think that Spock has much he needs to change but this isn't about that.  If you can look and feel like anything in the universe, why just look and feel like you do everywhere else?  As far as Jim and character creation goes (cause that's all this really is, just a big video game and Jim is kind of thrilled about that) he's been creating roughly the same guy for years now.  Tall and dark skinned, scarred well enough to look like he's kicked some ass in his time.  Good strong chin.  Perfectly intimidating, the type of guy who gets shit done and looks like he could bench press a car.  Sometimes he has a mohawk if the era is right, sometimes it's green.  Jim turns these ideas over in his head, these, 'typical macho fantasies,' as Uhura had called them once.  It's all right.  He's just grown rather attached to this guy and the idea of being able to be him tickles him in a way that Spock likely won't understand. 

 

Jim rubs his own chin thoughtfully.  "I'm gonna be my guy," he says.

 

“Your ‘guy’ captain?” Spock asks, because married or not they’re still not quite on shore leave yet, and that means they’re still slightly on-duty. His hand still hovers over the ‘scan’ option.

 

"You know the one I make.  C'mon, you seriously just wanna walk around like it's just any other place?  Make your hair blond or something, at least.  No, don't make it blond.  That would look weird.  Make it blue."  Maybe it's just that he wants to see what Spock would choose to look like if he were given the opportunity to choose.  Well, ok granted he's being given the opportunity to choose and he's chosen to look like himself.  Either Spock isn't using his imagination or he's... perfectly happy with himself.  This conversation might say more about Jim than it does about Spock, actually.

 

“This is like any other place, Jim,” Spock shakes his head. “I do not want to make an avatar that you will prefer over my real physical appearance.”

 

Jim hadn't really thought of it like that.  Spock always does manage to come at things from a completely different angle than he does, though.  "What?  I don't even think you could," he says, with a little grin.  "Look, you obviously don't have to.  I'm just saying...  It could be cool."

 

“It could also be a disaster,” Spock says as he finally selects the ‘scan’ option and steps through the external chamber into the official virtual world. He picks a bench to sit on and begins to inspect himself. He’s uploaded in pristine detail. His skin even has pores, and he can see the threads in his uniform. His hair is soft to the touch, and his skin is warm.

 

“Fascinating,” he murmurs to himself, and he looks around at the people thronging nearby. Everyone is attractive and interesting, because nobody would choose to be ugly. The women are thin and curvy with generous breasts and beautiful clothing, and the men are muscular and chiseled. It’s very unrealistic, and it makes Spock feel very detached. He imagines what these people look like in real life – nothing like their avatars, he can assume.

 

When Jim follows him, he gets to experience the very strange sensation of being taller than he was only a few seconds ago.  It isn't just that, either.  He's bulkier and heavier and when he says, "Whoa," his voice sounds quite a bit deeper than it normally does.  "Whoa," he says again and when he lifts his hands to his face there the scars are, two long ones running all the way down his left cheek.  He can even feel the strange numb feeling of scar tissue and when he makes a few exaggerated facial expressions, he can feel the skin there tightening.  His Starfleet uniform is gone, replaced by a tight white sleeveless shirt and camouflaged pants, thick heavy boots.     He certainly stands out in the crowd and Jim can't help being slightly disappointed in the lack of imagination being expressed here.  Everyone is so... pretty.

 

Spock, of course, looks like Spock when Jim spots him sitting on a bench a few feet away from the 'gate'.  Jim moves toward him (and even the weighty sound of his bootfalls is kind of exciting) and puts on his best stern look.

 

"Spock, look.  I'm terrifying."

 

Spock looks up, and then more up, all the way up to Jim’s scarred face. His eyebrows lift up, and then higher, and he looks the man up and down.

 

“You look ridiculous,” he says flatly.

 

"I look awesome," Jim answers, confident even though he hasn't managed to catch his own reflection yet.  "You're just mad that I'm taller than you."

 

“I am not that petty,” Spock rolls his eyes as he rises to a stand. His eyes are level with Jim’s collarbone, and he frowns as he looks up at him. “Are you going to look like this the whole time we are here?”

 

"Think so, yeah," Jim answers, still looking pleased with himself as he tests out his muscled arms, flexing them dramatically a few times.  "Why?"

 

Spock’s eyebrows lift so high they almost disappear into his bangs. He purses his lips just slightly before shaking his head. “Whatever makes you happy, Jim.”

 

They wander around for a little bit, and Spock decides to purchase a chocolate treat to see if it had the same effect on him in the real world. It did not, and he finds himself pleased with the ability to taste it with none of the consequences.

 

Jim is looking over every single other avatar, all tall beautiful people with flowing hair and rippling muscles. Everyone is so perfect, in fact, that Spock is the one who stands out. With his average height, realistically handsome face and unassuming clothes, he’s catching eyes all up and down the streets.

 

Jim is no less pleased with his choice when he finally spots his reflection in a window.  He's actually rather overjoyed and he spends a moment making angry faces at himself.  He feels like a giant, scarfaced, muscled child with a new toy.  He's so distracted by himself that it actually takes him a moment to notice the eyes on Spock wherever they go.  He can certainly empathize with them.  Despite all the so called perfect people around him, Spock's the best looking one on the street.  This might be personal bias, everyone could be wondering who the skinny Vulcan is but he's only skinny in comparison with everyone else and Jim doubts it.  He puts on his best intimidating frown for a few of the more obviously interested onlookers and feels a surge of incongruously giddy pride when it works.   

 

"So what should we do," he wants to know after they've walked for a while and Spock has finished his chocolate.  "We need to do something where I can play with this crazy body"

 

Spock walks up to a directory of the city called “Pleasure City” of all things, which is the main location for tourists and travelers who won’t be staying long.

 

“There are amusement parks, there’s a museum about the history of this planet and how it came to be virtual, we can take a tour of the internal mechanics, there’s some kind of live-action gaming, we can catch a ride on a cruise or go to a virtual zoo – ”

 

“W-w – waitwaitwaitwaitwait, wait,” Jim shakes his hands. “What was that you said about gaming?”

 

Spock puts his finger on the touch-screen and illuminates the “gaming” section. “Several popular video games have been adapted into live-action versions, in which you play the protagonist and have to fight your way through waves of NPCs, gather loot and complete missions. 25 credits a session. They have Halo, Fallout, Gears of War, Skyrim, Borderlands, Call of Duty – ”

 

“Did you say skyrim?” Jim interrupts with a wide grin.

 

“Skyrim. It’s about a thirty minute walk from here,” Spock nods.

 

"No way," Jim says, looking as amazed as if Spock has just told him the meaning of life.  He looks at the directory again and then ushers Spock off in the indicated direction.  "We've gotta do this at least once," he says, excitedly, and that feeling he'd gotten, of being an overgrown child, is back full force.  It's all he can do not to run and he's already imagining what it will be like.  He'll probably rock the armor better in this form than he would normally, too.  Another point for his customized appearance.  "You gonna play?"

 

“Probably not,” Spock shakes his head. “I have never been fond of videogaming. But I know you enjoy it, so perhaps I will come along as an NPC.”

 

"An NPC," Jim answers, both amused and amazed by the very possibility.  They're going to Skyrim.  Jim can't help but wonder what the combat is going to be like.  It's obviously going to be a bit different than his usual gaming experience but it occurs to him that he'll be in this new game world just like he's here in this one.  If he goes to put a sword through someone (assuming he can even manage it) it's going to look like it really goes through them, he imagines.  It sounds intense and Jim is eager to see how closely his expectations meet with reality.  "You'll be a better follower than Lydia," he adds.  "That's not saying much though, is it?  Do you even remember Lydia?  I bitched about her enough."

 

“I don’t remember, Jim,” Spock admits. “I allowed you to rant without really listening. My apologies.”

 

They arrive at “Skyrim” which really looks like the archway to an amusement park. The front archway is tall and has large metal letters across it that say “LABRYNTHIAN!”

 

“This looks horrifying,” Spock says as he peers through the gates.

 

“Greetings, brave explorers!” a man in armor that looks like it comes from the Dark Ages calls from the front gate. “Care to go on an epic quest? Only 50 credits for the both of you! Armor and weapons included!”

 

Jim looks at Spock one more time to make sure he's down for this and, when no argument is presented, pays the 50 credits and all but drags Spock after him through the arched gate.  As they step through, the unreality of their world is impressed upon them once more.  Their clothes have changed, as instantly and unobtrusively as if they'd been wearing them all along. 

 

"Whoa," Jim says again.  The clothes are instantly recognizable, to him at least, fur trimmed mages robes with leggings and high boots, long draped tunics made of a light, shimmering, blue fabric.  They're not quite a fashion choice that Jim would have made, himself, but if they're as beneficial in this Skyrim as they are in the Skyrim he's used to playing, then he'll take them.  He can't deny that they really drive the whole Skyrim thing home, too.  He's been given a leather satchel containing a a few small vials, recognizable as health and magicka potions, and narrow, tightly round scrolls with things like, 'Circle of Repel Undead,' or, 'Flame Cloak,' written on them.   He has a staff on his back that feels warm to the touch and he has a feeling that if he...

 

"Oh shit," Jim yelps as a bout of fire bursts from the end of his wooden staff.  It's gone as soon as it's come though and Jim gives Spock a wide-eyed look.

 

“This is incredibly dangerous,” Spock frowns as the fire dissipates.

 

“Welcome, travelers!” another armor-clad person says on the inside of the gates, a little bit too dramatically. “I sense new players! Each of you have a little dial on your wrists that will gauge your health, stamina and magicka. Watch those dials carefully, because if you’re out of magicka and you’re faced with a dragon, you have to get ready to run. And if your health goes down too far, you’ll zap right back here and have to start all over! Have fun!”

 

“When he says dragons…” Spock trails off as the armored man runs off to greet a group coming in behind Jim and Spock.

 

"Uhh, if I remember right, the one in here is undead and we have fire."  When he receives a rather blank look in return, he adds, "undead are really susceptible to fire," as if that makes everything better.  He's curious now, though, and as they walk a little further ahead he tucks his wooden staff under his arm and studies his hands.  "So I wonder if...  We have magicka does that mean-."  He is interrupted however, by his own hands lighting on fire.   He swears again and shakes them out then feels a sudden and intense thrill when he realizes that he's not damaged at all, he's just a mage in this game.  He thinks of the flame spell again and once again his hands are lit up like torches.  "Shit, Spock this is the coolest fucking thing.  See if you can do it too.  Just think about it happening, I guess."

 

“Thank you, I would prefer not to combust,” Spock says, looking around at the scenery instead. “Are we meant to be underground? Labyrinths are traditionally - ” but he stops talking as they tread deeper and a ceiling materializes over them.

 

"It's not going to burn you," Jim says, refusing to let the subject drop that easily.  "It's... your fire.  And I bet you're going to want it before we're done."  They are approaching a large, rounded wooden door now, set into the stone and bound in iron.  It opens quite a bit easier than Jim would have expected for it to, though that's likely the bulk of his avatar doing most of the work.  The stone room on the other side is large and lit by torches and instantly recognizable to Jim.  In the center, facing each other in a loose circle, stand a familiar group of ghostly figures having an equally familiar conversation about the ruins ahead. 

 

"That guy there," Jim says, pointing out one of the apparitions, "he was the leader of the Mage's College... That's where we're ostensibly from, by the way.  These guys came through here a long time ago and it didn't work out very well for them.  He was the only one who got away.  He's dead too now, unfortunately.  You don't really get time to figure out whether or not he's a good guy, if you ask me."

 

Spock overlooks the apparitions with a hum. “Perhaps this will be like a museum after all, if you continue to share factoids with me. However, museums, as a rule, don’t include dragons.”

 

Jim laughs.  "Speaking of dragons..."  He feels a flicker of nervous excitement as he goes through the familiar quest in his head.  He waves for Spock to follow him and heads to the far side of the room, toward a short, narrow corridor leading out.  It is barred on either end by heavy iron gates and Jim points out a pullchain nearby, says, "I'm gonna pull that and those gates are going to raise for just a few seconds.  We have to run through before they drop.  We have to be careful about it, though, because on the other side there's ten or fifteen skeletons and an undead dragon."  He peers through the bars, trying to see what he can, but the room beyond is shadowed and, if memory serves, the enemies there won't wake up until he and Spock are inside.  "We'll have a few seconds to hide," he adds.  "There's a column and some rubble to the right of the door.  Duck behind there and we'll surprise-fireball their asses.  Ready?  Sure you don't want to try the whole magic thing first?"

 

Spock’s eyes are wide but his mouth is a thin line. “You are very serious about this,” he says grimly. “We will not feel pain, correct? I find myself averse to being digitally eaten alive by a fictional reptile.”

 

"Nah, we're not in the right game mode for that," Jim says, cheeful.  "C"mon, this is cool.  We get to fight a skeletal dragon and throw fireballs at zombies without having to worry about actually dying.  It'll be fun.  Try to think of it as a tactical excercise."  He lights his hand on fire again, partially to demonstrate, partially to show off, and partially because he thinks it looks cool as hell.  "Can't feel a thing.  It's not even hot."  He grins encouragingly.

 

“I am not a tactical officer,” Spock complains as he tries to catch a glimpse of anything through the bars of the door keeping them separated from the skeletal dragon.

 

"You big baby," Jim says affectionately.  "Like we never have to do any tactical thinking.  C'mon.  Look, it's seriously intuitive this magic stuff.  It's all in your head cause all of this is... in our heads."  Still kind of strange to consider but it still means that all Jim has to do if he wants to throw a firebolt is think about it.  He tests this out now, with a flick of his flaming hand, and throws one at the stone floor where it burns briefly and leaves behind a singed black mark.  "Seriously, this is the coolest thing, Spock.  But if you really want to go face down this dragon without any preparation then I guess that's up to you..."

 

Spock sighs and looks at his hand. He flexes his fingers. “Nothing is happening,” he says dimly. “Perhaps – ”

 

He’s launched backwards off his feet by a giant rush of fire that blows through the bars. He’s thankful that he cannot feel the pain of landing flat on his back, but it’s still disorienting.

 

“Too much,” he decides, and rolls over onto his stomach to push into a standing position.

 

Jim laughs before he can stop himself and helps Spock up off the floor.  "Yeah, a bit.  You had it mostly right, though.  That just looked like a really intense version of the starter fire spell.  Think that but smaller."

 

Spock sighs. “The things I do for you,” he mutters as he tries again. This time a much smaller stream of fire shoots out from his hands and burns the wall close to the floor. “I never did think that I would be able to say that my hand combusted for combat purposes.”

 

"And look at you now," Jim answers, his smile wide and excited.  He bounces on the balls of his feet and peers through the gate again.  "I'm going to fireball all of them.  You take out the skeletons, I'll go for the dragon.  Hey you know," he turns back to Spock, "I've never had a follower in Labyrinthian before.  I kept dropping mine with friendly fire in the beginning the first time I played the game and gave up on the idea.  My Skyrim characters are all kind of loner-ish."

 

Spock makes a face. “Please do not murder me, Jim,” he says skeptically. All he gets from Jim is a bark of laughter as he goes over to the chain he pointed out before.

 

He feels nervous, almost. Despite the fact that he cannot feel pain, and he knows exactly what is going to happen due to Jim’s ridiculous and extensive knowledge of the game, nerves still flutter in his stomach. There is an instinctual fear, perhaps, of facing a more-or-less real live dragon.

 

"Ready," Jim asks one more time, motioning for Spock to step a little closer to the gate.  He takes a deep breath and gives the chain a sharp tug.  This sets off quite a bit of noise, the scraping of iron on stone as the gates lift and the clanking sound of the gate mechanism.  He ushers Spock on ahead and they dash through the iron gates, Jim following after with seconds to spare before the gate is dropped again.  The clang sounds through the large domed room, lit here and there by torches, and there is the eerie clattering sound of bone moving against bone.  Jim grabs Spock and pulls him behind the column that he'd mentioned earlier, ducking into the shadows.  There is the sound of clattering bone again, larger this time, and a rumbling roar that shakes the whole room and thrums through Jim's digital body like house music.  "Holy shit," he whispers, momentarily losing his cool.  "There's a dragon back there."

 

“Didn’t think this through very thoroughly, did you Jim?” Spock asks dryly. Jim only whimpers before shaking himself to regain his composure.

 

Spock looks around the column and sees a flash of white as something slithers in the shadows on the other side of the large, dirt-floored room. There are pillars all throughout the space, and what appears to be a large nest at the center, which is vacant.

 

“What exactly is the purpose of this?” Spock asks. “What are we meant to accomplish?”

 

"No, no, I got this," Jim whispers back.  He's done this a thousand times, if he can exaggerate a bit, and he's going to do it now.  He peers around the column again and there they are, skeletons ambling around with their bows and their swords and it looks quite a good deal creepier than it's ever managed to in game.  There are ten of them and Jim's moment of hesitation means that they are no longer all in fireball range.  He's quite preoccupied with them, too, until the dragon prowls into view. 

 

It's huge and looks so impossibly real, all scored bone and sharp points and teeth and it's just terrifying enough that Jim has to remind himself that this is a game.  Even if that thing does manage to get him, he's just going to pop up by the door again.  He can do this.  He ducks behind the column again and gives Spock a wide eyed look and whispers, "Shit, wait til you see this thing.  I'm going to fireball it."  He ignites both hands this time and gives Spock a wide, nervous little grin. 

 

He finds himself mimicking the familiar hand gestures seen in game as he leans around the column again, fireball building between his hands.  He spends a moment deciding where to throw the thing for maximum damage and then he takes a deep breath and lets it fly.  The resulting explosion is huge and violent and loud and, when he looks back, skeletons have been scattered and are beginning to push themselves up from the floor and the dragon is shaking itself out of a daze.  It spots him there in the dark with his flaming hands and roars again and Jim laughs and says, "Well, they know we're here now!"

 

Spock has never been much of a fighter, but it’s amazing what adrenaline can do for your sorcery skills. He tumbles out from behind the pillar and begins to throw fire of his own.

 

The Vulcan is surprised to find that he has a much easier time than he supposed he would moving in the long robes. They’re practically insubstantial and don’t hinder his movements at all while he spins and throws fire.

 

He’s almost enjoying himself. Knowing that these creatures cannot actually cause him any harm makes the experience much more fun and much less terrifying. That’s not to say that the sight of a three-story skeletal dragon isn’t horrifying, but it’s a comfort to know that they can’t hurt him.

 

He turns to see Jim having a blast. He’s grinning from ear to ear and spinning around unnecessarily because this is the only time he’s ever going to be this cool, and Spock doesn’t blame him for wanting to take advantage of it. The fact that Jim is his giant ridiculous avatar takes away from some of the romanticism of watching Jim having such a good time, but Spock knows who the behemoth is inside, and how reverently he will talk about this whole experience tomorrow.

 

And then he gets bowled over onto his side when a skeleton tackles him.

 

Jim is so busy having the time of his life, flinging firebolts at skeletons and running from great gouts of flamebreath, that it take him a moment to notice that Spock is in trouble.  His heart does a little leap, even though he knows that Spock isn't in danger of more than having to start over, and Jim spends a fraction of a second panicking over what to do.  He doesn't necessarily want Spock to have to start over and throwing fire at him isn't the way to prevent that.  The fire burning around his right hand disappears as quickly as he figures out what to do, though, replaced by an orb of radiant white light.  He lobs this at the skeleton on top of Spock and the thing scrambles to its feet and runs away with a clatter, uninjured but clearly terrified. 

 

"Hey, nice right," he calls, grinning, but he doesn't have much time to celebrate the victory or to chat.  The dragon considers him a particularly troublesome sort of pest and Jim can't stay too long in one place without having to dodge a spray of red flame.  His specially customized body is large but it's strong and fast and he feels like such a badass running and twisting and and hurling fire, dodging blows from blades that look ancient.  "He'll be back," he adds, ducking around another skeleton just in time to see the thing reduced to a pile of charred bone by the dragon pursuing him.

 

“How can a skeletal creature with no muscular system and no glands whatsoever breathe fire?” Spock complains as he steps out of the way of a lunging skeleton. He grabs it by the wrist and wrenches its sword out of its hand, slicing its head off its body with a swing of the digital blade.

 

The thing is slow at its size though its giant strides make up for a lot of this and Jim finds himself acting just this way his mages have always acted in game, running for his virtual life and throwing fire over his shoulder.  "I'll admit my undead dragon biology is a little rusty!" 

 

They're doing well, though.  Between them they've reduced the number of skeletons by more than half and charred the dragon well enough to have him snapping mad and thundering around on his huge clawed feet.  Illogical or not, the creature is actually breathing fire at them and Jim supposes they can worry about the logistics of this later.  "Just kill it," he advises.  "And we can figure it out later!"

 

“Jim, you’re - !!” Spock tries to tell the man that he’s causing the dragon to step backwards, but then he’s pinned behind a skeleton and it’s too late.

 

The dragon’s foot comes right down on him, and he’s crushed instantly.

 

"Oh god damn it," Jim complains to the dragon, after a brief moment spent too shocked by the sight to really react.  Spock is respawning, not actually dead, but Jim yells and tears into their enemies with a vengeful determination.  The dragon has at least managed to take a skeleton out along with Spock, leaving only one more for Jim to face.  He pelts it with fire until it drops and then whirls on the dragon to continue the barrage, throwing large bolts the size of basketballs with both hands.  The spells are explosive and seem to stun the dragon on contact, a familiar mechanic that he would smile at if he wasn't busily avoiding having to restart himself.  A glance at the display on his wrist tells him that his magicka is getting a bit low though he doesn't really start to worry until the end when he's got barely enough for one last spell and the dragon is still staggering resolutely forward. 

 

That it works is a profound relief and Jim has to cover his computer generated ears to block out the dying roar that the beast lets out, shaking the room to its stone rafters as its hundreds of pounds worth of old bone all crash to the floor. 

 

"Spock," he calls, feeling rather breathless even in this new body.  He hurries back to the dual iron gates and tries to see into the room beyond.  "Hey, Spock, you made it back yet?"

 

Spock is standing there tugging at the chain, and the instant it’s up, he hurries through before it can come crashing down on his head. He takes a breath, looks at Jim, and blasts him in the chest with fire, knocking him down off his feet.

 

“You backed that dragon right onto me, Jim,” he scolds.

 

"Oof," Jim answers, looking balefully back up at Spock.  "I didn't see you," he says, maybe a little defensively, and then he laughs because all of it's kind of ridiculous.  He pushes back up to his feet and dusts himself off, straightens out his robes.  "That was pretty fun though, wasn't it?"

 

“Would you like the list of my complaints in alphabetical order or chronological?” Spock asks.

 

Jim snorts out a laugh.  "Yeah, I thought you'd like it," he teases.  "Sorry I got you stepped on.  And just think, that's only the beginning.  Lots more undead stuff to come and we'll finish by fighting a dragon priest who throws lighting bolts.  He always kills me at least once."  Jim waggles his eyebrows.

 

Spock crosses his arms. “This does not sound like fun, but there is something I wish to do later that you will not find fun, so I will consider this even. You may proceed in leading me.”

 

“You have no idea how many museums this makes up for,” Jim answers with a fond smile, throwing one brawny arm around Spock and giving him an affectionate squeeze.  “Mostly because this is awesome but partially because we have a lot of Labyrinthian left to go.”  He chuckles at Spock’s long-suffering look but moves off to crouch beside one of the fallen skeletons.  There is a dirty old leather purse there amongst the bones and when Jim opens it, he finds a potion in a small vial as well as a handful of golden coins.  The sight makes him laugh again.  There really is loot to collect.  “Here you go,” he says, flipping one of the embossed coins to Spock.  He’s not sure what they’ll do with them outside of Labyrinthian but he’s pleased with them all the same.

 

The door to the passages beyond looms intimidating and large at the far side of the room and Jim feels a thrill of anticipation when he moves to stand before it, his satchel now jingling with possibly useless gold coins.  He flashes another excited grin towards Spock, pleased to have him there even if he isn’t the most enthusiastic of followers.  It’s things like this – things that Spock does not because they’re logical or an efficient use of his time but because they make Jim happy – that manage to mean the most.  After all this, they can spend the night in a museum if Spock wants to.

 

“Ready?” he asks, excited all over again by their mostly victorious first battle, and even if Spock’s making that face that Jim considers the equivalent of a Vulcan eyeroll he answers in the affirmative and together they push open the door that will lead them deeper into the heart of the labyrinth.


End file.
